


Psychics and Soulbonds

by Anihan (Nakagami)



Series: A series of AUs. [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Psychics/Psionics, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Psychic John Watson, Story snippet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-08 22:42:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nakagami/pseuds/Anihan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson walks into Barts expecting to meet the man he's had inside his head since they were both children. He is not disappointed.</p><p>Written and finished by Oct 8th, 2013. Minimal editing. Please see the series description for an announcement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Psychics and Soulbonds

"Afghanistan or Ira--"

"Please," John interrupts swiftly, looking pained. "Can we not? It's just. That's. Not the conversation I want to have with you." He doesn't say anymore although he's dying to ask and explore that mind in person. The eagerness is painted in broad strokes across his mind.

Sherlock's spine stiffens imperceptibly and he carefully hides his shock, elongates a surprised gasp into a deep breath. "You're my Shadow," Sherlock says at last.

John smiles. He's thrilled - "Of course I am." - a deduction in person, at long last! "And you're Sherlock Holmes, 34, tells every psychic you're a Taurus just to see if they'll correct you. Only, few of them do and that makes you a bit jaded about the whole profession: But you'll be pleased to hear that more of them noticed you being a twit, they only thought to spare your feelings by how wrong you were. That's all your fault, by the way: They're all sky psychics; they know the stars, not people."

A delighted smile flickers on Sherlock's face, quickly hidden. "And you know this from a mere glimpse of me, fascinating. We didn't brush skin when passing over the mobile so you must be a visual observer. Or..." He says the last word leadingly, as if to say 'Well we both know the first option is more common, but I suspect the truth to be elsewise.'

John nods, stiffly, agreeing. "Yes, or. Tell me what you think."

"An emotional observer of some kind, then, and a strong one. Must have been equally a blessing and a curse as a doctor in the military."

John huffs with laughter. "More than you know." He smiles a little knowingly - the 'you think we are sharing a joke but only I know the punchline' smile, and Sherlock's thoughts skid deliciously to a halt. John, feeling it in real time inside his own head, feels warm.

"Not an emotional observer then." Sherlock's voice is flat. John, knowing the play behind the mask so intimately, takes pity and tries not to gloat.

"Organic chemical observer. You were part right, emotions are a big part of that."

"As are neurotoxins, pain signals, hormones, venom! Urgh, how could I miss that!"

"Bit large of a thing to miss this time, yes. Just, don't spread it around, will you. My ability's not exactly on file with the DoL."

Sherlock left off moping to stare at John incredulously. A smile had already begun to play about his lips. "To be clear, you were an unregistered organic chemical observer. Doctor. In the army. And no one noticed the unnatural range of your observations on the battlefield?" The click of everything falling into place was audible as Sherlock's mouth snaps shut. "Oh, of course. You claim to be an unawakened emotional observer."

"Ahh, yes. I did, but. Well. Only when I first joined. Now I just say I'm pants at the non-living stuff; fully awakened, just rubbish at telling people what inorganic objects have emotional value. That's why I didn't go into real estate."

The last line is delivered like the punchline to the joke, and the tension that had fallen over the lab breaks. "The correlation between psychic abilities and mundane careers. I was seven when I wrote that paper." Sherlock smile quirks up, pleased at last. "You paid attention to my Work."

"Of course I did. I had no idea you were seven when you wrote that, it was too soon after I began Shadowing, but I was fourteen when I read it: Your advice on cross-psychic manipulation and mimicking alternative psychic roles saved my arse a dozen times a week all the way up through sixth form."

"What traumatized you?"

John blinks, although he doesn't look surprised. "Beg your pardon?"

Sherlock leans forward eagerly. He's caught the scent and revels in it; the hunt brought out his tendency to shine and Sherlock was bright with it, brilliant. They both grin. "You awakened at a fairly young age so something traumatic must have happened. You served on active duty for over a decade according to your posture and age, and you'd been planning to go into the army for years before that according to a dozen other signs, so you must had an image of the future you wanted and violence must not have been the cause of your Awakening or it would have waited until you were older, on the battlefield. Knowing this, one question remains clear: What alerted you to your potentials as a psychic?" Sherlock doesn't pause. He steps in close and rakes his eyes down John's body, attempting to pull more information from every detail: The scar beside one eye, the tenseness of his shoulders, the particular shade of his skin. "The organic psychic observation ability isn't rare, it's merely stifled and made dormant by 'civilised behavior'. If you didn't bloom late and yet your abilities came on suddenly, as organic observation abilities Awakened during childhood are notorious for being powerful and sudden-onset, you must have experienced a traumatic event at some point to get past the block on your mind. You say you read one of my papers at fourteen but you never said you were fully Awakened at that time. Several possible conclusions exist but there is one that is most likely: Abusive relationship in your teens, early twenties?"

"Ah, no, um. Well, yes. But. That's not how I Awakened." The doctor shuffles his feet a bit, uncomfortable but not too perturbed. "My parents didn't-- I mean, that's why I joined the RAMC when I did, but they didn't know. About me. But I'd known before then, years before. I, um. I Awoke because of you, actually. Fully. I heard a story when I was thirteen, about a kid my age who drowned in a swimming pool."

Sherlock freezes in shock. He sways on his feet and takes a few minutes to remember how words work, and even then he only chokes out, "Carl Powers."

John simply nods. "Yes."

Sherlock's expression closes off and his eyes fall shut in order to allow his mind complete access to the data. It cracks, sleeps, reawakens with a jerk; Sherlock Holmes taking that one step closer to John Watson and delivering what John had wanted to hear since he was a teen; that he was not alone in this. "It was sudden, your Awakening, but utterly molasses in the way it crowned. You woke up from a light doze and the full picture of my life must have crashed over you, no break, no easy transition. It must have been days before you could calm the flow. Before you could separate the bits that were You in your head from the part that was Me." The last sentence was delivered as an accusation.

"Just a week. Positively minimal, considering. Well, considering you." He pauses then adds with a small shrug, "I didn't purge You, if that's what you're thinking."

Disbelief was a constant factor on Sherlock's face. "In just a week you managed to assimilate every aspect of my mind into your brain and then, after that traumatic event, you decided to keep it there? Why? Shadowing isn't mandatory, it isn't even painful or difficult to shut it off: a complete purge of our bond wouldn't even be necessary. There was no need to experience every moment of my waking life along with your own. It must have been excrutiatingly tedious. Why in the world would you put yourself through that?"

"Oh, it wasn't all that bad. You were six and I was only barely a teenager when it began. I felt like playing Pirates too, back then. You were the only pleasantly interesting thing in my life for years." 

"Until your twenties. Pleasantly interesting? The drinking, the smoking, and the recreational drug use," Sherlock delivers flatly. John snorts with amusement, as if he'd known Sherlock would say that. Stupid psychics.

"Harry's been doing better, I don't smoke anymore, and Mum's off the morphine."

"I meant mine!"

"Oh. Yes. Well, that *did* make uni quite interesting for a few years. Wasn't all bad though. And there were worst ways to get through what you were going through." 

Sherlock comes up short. He stares down at John with all the force of his quite stalwart gaze and tries to see the lies between everything else, between everything that just sounds like good. It sounds suspiciously like John is saying he understands and, at some level, doesn't wholly disapprove of Sherlock's choices.

Or of Sherlock.

"Are you claiming to know what I went through?"

"I am your shadow, remember? I was there with you, even when you were alone."

The stalwart determination in that tone, the dogged protectiveness John effuses, it makes something solidify in Sherlock's mind. If he hadn't had iron control over his body, his fortifying deep breath would have been ragged with want. Of John.

And John was his shadow. He was living the detective's life right now, right here, even as he lived it. Sherlock's voice cracked before a single word got out.

"221B Baker Street," he gasps.

John nods. "The place you've just moved into?"

"Yes. The place you'll move into tonight." A pause. "Please."

John stared at him blankly for a moment, then let out a small grin and said, "Yeah. Alright."

___________

"I knew you'd come."

"No you didn't."

"Yes, I did."


End file.
